Swords and Spoons
by NerdiChick95
Summary: Belle asks Rumpelstiltskin for a favor. It doesn't play out the way they expected.


**Author's Note: I wrote this for Rumbelle Secret Santa on Tumblr. I hope everybody likes it.**

"That's cheating!"

"It was entirely fair and you know it," the imp snorted to the woman on the ground. He gripped his wooden practice-blade loosely by his side. Hers lay across the room, having been knocked out of her hand.

"You haven't taught that to me!" the woman insisted. "That means it's cheating."

A giggle burst from the imp's lips. "Well, dearie, you did try to catch me unawares. If anything, it is _you_ that is cheating." The little woman glared at him, making his already toothy grin wider. "As it is, you can't blame me for your inherent lack of skill when it comes to dueling."

"Oh, you hush," she grumbled, picking herself up off of the ground.

"You misunderstand me, dearie. It's actually quite impressive how terrible you are."

She turned to look at him, trying to stay angry though she was never to hide even a shred own amusement from his large eyes. "I need to remember to poison your tea tonight," she huffed.

"Good luck with that," he chuckled.

Not that Belle would know it, but Rumpelstiltskin was growing increasingly frustrated. Of course this whole ordeal was entirely her fault. Not long after returning to the castle after their chase for the thief—the one that _she_ set free—she came to him with a rather intriguing proposal.

"What if someone breaks into the castle while you are off during one of your deals?" she had asked him. At that point she had begun to chew her lip again, a habit of hers that was becoming awfully distracting. Not that he could bring himself to ask her to stop, though. The beauty went on, "What if the next person to come to rob you is not quite so . . . lenient towards a lady?"

"Well," he giggled, "I suppose that I shall simply lock you away whenever I leave. No one would dare sneak into my dungeons, not with all the traps and curses I keep down there. You would be perfectly safe of course, so long as you kept away from the locks." He had waited to see how she would react to his little jest. Every time he invoked her fiery temper she would look at him like an angry kitten.

Instead, he was met with a tilt of her head as she pouted at him. Pouted at the most powerful sorcerer in the realms. That caught him a little off guard.

"Come now, Rumple," she entreated. "Don't you think I should be able to protect myself?"

How could he deny her that?

Now it seemed that he was in a little over his head. It was less of a matter of should she learn and more of a problem of _could_ she learn. Two weeks of practicing every day for about two hours each day in the dining room, and the Dark One still could not get Belle to a place where either of them could be satisfied. If she wasn't gripping the hilt to firmly then she was tripping over her own feet. If she managed to keep a basic stance then she would overreach with her sword and sprain her shoulder, while at the same time sending her blade flying towards Rumpelstiltskin's head. How on earth had she managed to throw the damn thing so far when she could barely lift it?

They had switched to wooden training swords after that incident.

She was exhausting, and stubborn, and seemed to be oblivious to his teaching. Still, she was rather pleasing to look at when she wore the leather trousers he gave her.

Today, after extensive precautions on his part to see that she did not accidentally hurt either of them, he was attempting to teach her a simple technique for disarming an enemy. Attempting. Most of the time he ended up waiting for her to get ahold of her senses after he repeatedly beat her. And it was not his fault if he had to find some way to pass the time while she stumbled around. It was not wrong to tease and toy a little. He was bored.

Admittedly, he did not expect her to react so furiously to his harassment, but it was hardly his fault. When he had heard the _swish_ of the wood behind him he acted on instinct. He was defending himself.

Somehow in the small fracas they had, she ended up on the ground, trying to hide how disconcerted she was by blaming him. Goodness, she was persistent.

She stood now, having retrieved her sword, poised rather poorly.

"Alright, dearie, hold your arm higher and spread your feet apart. Oh, don't give me that look. You don't want to trip over yourself again do you?" He stepped behind her to avoid the daggers her eyes were shooting at him. She looked like a kitten again, and if started laughing at her they would never get anything done.

"Now," he went on, "Stop trying to commit so soon. In a real fight you must wait until your opponent can't change his decision."

He heard a grumble and managed to make out a soft "you never do."

"_I_ have been doing this for centuries," he retorted, forcing another giggle. "I'm allowed to bend a few rules."

"Well _I_ think that I simply have a poor teacher."

With a swiftness that no mortal man could boast of, he moved in front of her so she could see him feign abashment. "Do you have any idea of the number of people I have succeeded in teaching? You'd be rather surprised by the amount of men and women that have achieved fame thanks to my wisdom."

Rolling her eyes, she urged, "Could you teach me to fight first? I'll focus on fame after I figure out how to beat you."

"Aha!" the imp cheered. "So that's the little maid's endgame! To defeat the beast!"

Laughing with him now—he congratulated himself on getting a smile out of her—she quipped back, "You caught me, Rumpelstiltskin. I came with you for the sole purpose of learning how to use a sword. It's not like there were scores of men back home who would teach me if I asked."

"Yes, but how many of those men could claim being the Dark One?"

"Well Marcus did seem suspicious." Belle chuckled.

Heavens, she was always so tenacious. "Very amusing, dearie. Now again, like I showed you. Focus on your balance and don't commit until I do."

Careful not to be too forceful, the imp lunged at her. He was proud when she managed to knock away his first blow. Then he brought his arm back around and she squeaked in surprise. She moved to quickly to block and rammed her shoulder painfully into his. He grunted and jumped back, only to find that she had twined her ankle between both of his, and before either of them knew it they were on the ground.

And she was giggling.

"Does that count as winning?" she snorted.

Giving her a look of exasperation, he grumbled, "Not quite."

She looked abashed. "Why not?" she insisted. "You fell over."

"Yes, but you fell over as well," he pointed out.

"Then it's a draw."

With a sigh, he asked, "You aren't going to give up on this are you?"

"Not very likely."

"Then it is a draw," he conceded.

"So then," she stood up and dusted herself off again. "Will be working on my fame now?"

Though he was not in too much pain, standing felt like too much of a chore, so he remained seated. "Why not?" he seethed. "You are the first person ever to exhaust all of my ideas in anything. Why not stake your claim with that? Congratulations dearie."

Now she looked genuinely shocked. And he really needed to spin. Not bothering to hide his frustration anymore, he groaned and forced himself to stand. He turned and started for the door, wanting to spin somewhere else so that he didn't have to see her big blue eyes watching him.

"Wait," she called. Against his will, he found himself stopping. "What about the rest of my lesson?"

"Belle," How could he say this without hurting her ego? "We've been at this for weeks. I have always prided myself in being very patient, but if you are unable to learn then . . . ." He searched for words as disappointment began to form on her pearly face. "Well, this will only end up being a waste of both our time, dear. If you truly fear for your safety then I can place some wards on you."

"Please Rumple?" she protested. "Just let me try again. I can figure this thing out!"

"I've made up my mind," he growled, not meeting her gaze.

The beauty firmly asserted, "Then I'll teach myself instead."

"Teach your—what?" He spun around to stare at her with her brow furrowed and jaw set.

She nodded. "Why not? You have plenty of books upstairs. I'm sure at least _one_ will have instructions for using a sword."

Rumpelstiltskin thought about all the times she had tripped and stumbled in the past few days _with_ his guidance. The thought of that, along with the knowledge of her inability to walk past something valuable without bumping into it, made him nauseous. Damn, why did she keep winning these arguments?

"Goodness," he sighed. "Will nothing deter you?" She bit her lip again and shook her head. "Very well. But I'll need you to give me some time to come up with something. This," he motioned between the two of them, holding his blade up, "is not working." Her face brightened and she nodded enthusiastically. "Oh dear," he murmured.

An hour passed before he was ready to begin again. After much thought and careful magic, he had summoned up a glamour for her to fight. The silver phantom was in the form of a soldier donned in a set of simple plate armor. A helmet covered its face so that the little maid would not feel so uneasy about fighting it. At its side hung a sword of the same size and shape as the wooden ones Rumpelstiltskin and Belle had been using. Satisfied with his work, the mage summoned the original blade that his caretaker had used before her . . . accident.

"Alright, dearie," he smiled mischievously, twirling the sword in his hand. There was nothing like a little magic to lift his mood. "I trust you know what a glamour is?"

Peering cautiously at the spirit, she replied, "Yes, I've read about them. This is the first time I've ever seen one though."

"What can I say?" he chuckled. "There are one or two perks to being the Dark One." He offered her the hilt before going on. "Now, this cannot actually touch you or feel anything itself, but I have designed it to react as though it were a real person whenever you strike it. So if you stab it—"

"It will move as though it were impaired."

"Precisely."

"And—you are, uh." He knew she was about to bite her lip before she even did it this time.

Pushing the thought aside, he prodded, "I am what, dear?"

"You're positive that it can't feel anything, right?" Of course she would worry about its safety. Hadn't he already guaranteed that it couldn't feel?

"No, it's not real." he assured.

She turned to face the specter, and he took the opportunity to place his hand on the center of her back. Magic flowed from his fingertips into her spine.

Stifling a giggle—yet not moving away—she laughed, "That tickles! What are you doing?"

"Making sure that you have a real fight," he responded. "This spell will ensure that you know whenever it strikes you. If it comes into any kind of contact with you, the spell will force you to move as though you were 'impaired' as you put it."

He removed his palm and she looked at him with some confusion. "I thought you said that it couldn't touch me."

"Fear not, my dear. There will be no pain. I fashioned the spell to avoid pain. It won't harm you, it will only make you feel stiff where you are hit."

"Alright." She looked back at the soldier. "So now I just fight it? Are you going to watch and critique then?"

Rumpelstiltskin giggled and practically admonished her, crowing, "Of course not!"

The imp positioned himself behind her and wrapped his arms around hers, lining their limbs up to hold the sword together. He nudged her feet with his own while moving his arms, putting her in the correct stance. Then he coaxed her hands with his fingers so that she did not grip the hilt too loosely or tightly. All the while he tried to ignore the feel of her body pressed unusually close to his. Even through her back he could feel her heartbeat quicken as she tried to control her breathing, and the scent of her brown locks filled his nostrils. She smelled like cinnamon.

The sorcerer snapped his eyes shut and held his breath for a moment, forcing himself to focus. Before she could notice his discomfort, he began to move around, easing her along so they stepped together and moved their arms in the same manner.

"For now I just want you to move with me. Get a feel for how to move." He added playfully, "We wouldn't want to trip again, now would we?"

She chuckled nervously and asked, "I don't suppose you did this with any of your other students, did you?"

Grinning, though she could not see it, he snickered, "Oh no, dearie. None of them needed it. You're a special exception."

"Do you mean clumsy?"

Openly laughing into her hair now, he replied, "I believe that should be included in the definition, yes."

For several minutes—though it felt like hours—they only walked together, each getting used to how the other moved. Belle's breathing calmed down a little, though Rumpelstiltskin was now resorting to reciting ancient poems in foreign languages to occupy his mind.

After a while, when he felt they were both comfortable, he nodded to the soldier. The silver figure moved toward them with an inhuman slowness. He could sense Belle's confusion but does not speak. He needed her to concentrate. The glamour reached them and brought its sword slowly to their left. Moving in sync, he and Belle deflected the blow with equal slowness. When their opponent struck again at their right, they parried once more. Then, as the figure lunged, Rumpelstiltskin moved them one step to their right, moved their left hands to grab the soldier's wrist, and jabbed its right shoulder with the butt of their hilt. When the specter dropped its sword, Belle cheered, eliciting another grin from the imp.

They repeated these motions again, then again, increasing their speed after each attempt. Within thirty minutes they are moving at full speed, running through the technique swiftly and masterfully. After he lost track of time they were running through an array of techniques, blending them together based on whatever was needed. She was drenched in sweat and huffing heavily, while his breathing had become slightly labored. Suddenly, he felt Belle take control, and she kicked the glamor and sliced their sword across its neck.

Rather than decapitating the soldier as the blade passed through its neck, it left no damage to the figure. It stood up straight, let its sword fall to its side, and froze.

Rumpelstiltskin released their sword and removed himself from her back. "Now, wasn't that much better?"

"Yes," she huffed, still a little out of breath. "Thank you, Rumple."

He tilts his head and gives her a small bow. "Of course, dear."

With a flick of his wrist, the glamour is gone, and another sword rests in his hand.

"Shall we try again?" he giggled.

Belle nodded with enthusiasm.

Lunging at her with a little less reservation than before, the magician is thrilled when before long they are dueling. They exchange blows, each shifting between offensive and defensive at multiple points. Her brow was furrowed tightly and her mouth was pulled in a stiff snarl as she struggled to maintain her concentration. She looked beautiful.

The maid lunged at him before he could realize what he had just thought. All he could do was say, "Good! Keep going!"

With a grin, she increased the intensity of her attacks. He had to focus in order to avoid retaliating too hard. But when they are both laughing and moving in what could have been a dance at any other point, he could not help but forget that she was still a novice.

His glee is short-lived though. In an attempt to push her back into a defensive position, he accidentally hit her hand with his blade.

Belle jumped back, dropping her sword which clanged on the stone floor. "Ow!" she yelped. "Owow oh ow ouch! Ow!"

Within moments Rumpelstiltskin dropped his own sword and rushed to her side.

"Belle! Oh, I'm so sorry Belle!" he cried in alarm. "Here, let me see."

She offered him her hand which he took immediately, apologies streaming from his lips.

"It didn't cut me," she winced as he touched it. "I think you hit me with the blunt side."

Sure enough, there was no blood. Her hand seemed to be turning black and blue though, much to his distress.

"Oh sweetheart, I'm sorry. I've broken your wrist."

Dammit! How could he have lost focus like that? It was just a few hours ago that he had tripped the two of them. Why did he think that she could handle an actual duel?

His face must have betrayed him, because she took his cheek in her other hand and said, "It's okay. It doesn't hurt so much. I was just shocked, I guess."

"You're a terrible liar, Belle," he grumbled. "Here." He passed his hand over her wrist. The woman squirmed as the bone began to correct itself. Within a few moments the skin had returned to its natural porcelain shade, though he turned it over a few times to be sure. "All better?" he asked softly.

"Yes it just—it itches a little now."

With a gentle smile, he said, "An unfortunate side effect to this kind of magic. Your had is going to feel a little strange for the next few hours." He paused, then asked, "Are you sure you're alright?"

She smiled back. "Yes, I'm much better. Thank you, Rumpelstiltskin."

Warmth spread through his body. "My pleasure, Belle." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly before releasing it.

The two of them picked up their swords and started for the door.

"I am sorry, you know," he said again. I was a little . . . overenthusiastic."

Laughing warmly, she replied, "Well, you weren't the only one. That was exciting."

"Indeed," he agreed. "And you did much better this time.

"Why thank you," she said sweetly. "Perhaps I was wrong before, too. It seems my teacher is very—"

A loud banging on the front door cut her off.

Rumpelstiltskin scowled. "Well this is annoying. I'll return in a moment, Belle."

She nodded and he trudged away. Once in his foyer, he threw open the doors. Outside was an aged man with a stiff face, wrinkled with hate lines from all his years of cruelty. He wore long dark robes and a judge's cap, and he recoiled somewhat at the sight of the Dark One.

"Well now, this _is_ a surprise," the imp tittered, his devilish façade returning in moments. "You know, I really never thought you'd ever show your face around her after calling me a—what was it?—'an unholy demon, the likes of which should be cleansed from the land.' So tell me, Frollo, what brings you to my most humble domain?"

The judge snorted with disgust and contempt. "Do not patronize me, creature. No righteous man would ever steal away so many treasures for himself."

"Says the pot to the kettle," the spell-caster rebuffed. "But you see dearie, as much as I'd love to go on spatting back and forth like a bunch of cats, I am a little occupied at the moment. So, if you would kindly tell me what the hell you want so you can go ahead and scamper away, I would almost be grateful."

"Wicked monster!" Frollo snapped.

"Tick tock, dearie."

The man shuffled around for a few moments before spitting out, "I need your assistance."

"Well, most people who show up at my doorstep do. Would you like to specify, dearie, or shall I make an assumption?"

"It's—I—" Rumpelstiltskin grinned at Frollo's unease. "The gyspies!" he finally faltered. "The pagan delinquents have gotten out of control. One in particular. I- need something to control her. They all listen to her, rally with her, but if I can control her I can round them all up and deal with them as needed."

The Dark One's eyes narrowed. "Yes, of course. _Control_ her. That's all you have in mind."

"I beg your pardon?" the judge snapped.

"I'm not blind, dearie," he laughed darkly. "I know a smitten old man when I see one."

"How dare you?" Frollo snarled, his voice rising.

"Well," the mage pretended to think. "Firstly, it's rather amusing. The great and holy Judge Frollo is panting after some gypsy-girl like a dog in heat." He giggled, "Is she young, dearie? Oh, I bet she is. I bet you get all kinds of urges when you see her. How hard do you try to ignore them? Do you feel guilty at all? Or do you feel that a life of so-called purity permits you a few free passes? Oh, it's definitely the latter."

"ENOUGH!" the man roared. "I am the legal and moral leader of—"

"Dearie," the imp interrupted. "If you're moral then so am I." The judge huffed furiously while the little golden man went on, "As it is, I'm still a little sore from your last few remarks about my character."

"What am I supposed to—"

"Well," he said, cutting him off again. "If this truly is a serious issue, then do what the rest of the 'unworthy' squabble that you hate so much does. Or do priests no longer take confessions? Or would a priest merely sully your robe? Yes, he must be too sinful and unholy to absolve you. Or perhaps it's the other way around."

Before he could get another word in, the sanctimonious judge pivoted on his heel and stormed away. Rumpelstiltskin could see him fuming, even from behind, and quite a few unfriendly words which probably should have been whispered echoed throughout his courtyard.

After giving the man one last nasty grin, the imp slammed his great doors shut and made his way to the dining room. Once inside, he looked around.

She was not there.

Light peeked from behind the curtains, illuminating the room with tiny slivers of light, so it was not as though it was too dark to see. And they had removed the table and trophies for each of their lessons, so there was no where she could be hiding.

"Belle?" he called out, alarm beginning to fill him. "Belle!"

Out of nowhere, someone leapt onto his back, shoving something dull onto his chest.

"I win!"

Belle held onto him tightly as she pressed a metal spoon against his torso.

"Belle!" he gasped. "What on earth are you doing?"

He heard a giggle next to his ear as she repeated, "I win."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I beat you!" she pushed. "If this were a knife I would have just won."

A smirk crossed over his face as he began to understand. In a whirl of movement, Rumpelstiltskin yanked the woman off of his back and pinned her to the ground. "Perhaps you would have won against a man," he snickered.

With an exhausted groan, his little maid pleaded, "Oh come on, Rumple! I knock you over and you say it's a draw, but I actually manage to sneak up on you and stab you and you go ahead and cheat again."

"To be fair, you stabbed me with a spoon love," he laughed. "I don't think that would succeed in killing anyone."

"What? I didn't want to _actually_ stab you."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, even if you did, you wouldn't _actually_ kill me. Or have you forgotten the thief that shot me?"

"Well . . . still." She bit her lip. "Wouldn't it hurt?"

"Goodness," he sighed. "Why are you always worried about all the wrong people? Thieves, illusions, monsters—"

"Hey," she protested. "I was right about that thief! And you know it!"

"I admit nothing. And my question still stands, love."

She frowned as she stared up at him. "I suppose . . . well, if I don't worry about them then who will?"

What on earth was she? He stared at her in bewilderment before murmuring softly, "You realize that you're going to get yourself killed if you trust everyone, don't you?

"I never said trusted everyone," she pointed out. "Besides, you like it when I worry about you. I can tell."

"I still don't admit to anything."

They stared at one another in silence for a little while longer before Rumpelstiltskin finally stood and helped her to her feet.

"You should go wash up," he instructed. "I'll be expecting supper in two hours, and I'd rather it didn't smell like sweat." In the meantime, he needed to go spin. He had a lot to think about.

"Yes, of course." She turned to walk away, but stopped and looked back at him. "Would you like some tea with your supper?"

"Thank you, yes," he replied with a gentle smile.

She smiled back before adding, "Oh, and can I borrow some things from your study? I believe I promised to poison you earlier."

With a manic grin, he replied, "I think I can find you something.


End file.
